


Water Under the Bridge

by bakers_impala221



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Angst, Comfort, Destiel - AU, Discussions of death, Gen, Heterosexism, Hospitalized Castiel (Supernatural), Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicidal Castiel (Supernatural), Suicidal Thoughts, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakers_impala221/pseuds/bakers_impala221
Summary: Cas is in the hospital and needs someone to pick him up. He calls Dean, but Dean has questions.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Water Under the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

> _All morning, the  
>  Morning has been blackening,_
> 
> _A flower left out.  
>  My bones hold a stillness, the far  
> Fields melt my heart._
> 
> _They threaten  
>  To let me through to heaven  
> Starless and fatherless, a dark water._
> 
> \-- Sylvia Plath, _Sheep in Fog_
> 
> ***
> 
> For trigger warning, read end notes (minor spoilers)

The reception was cold.

Cas shivered. He tugged at his thin, grey t-shirt, pulled at it between two fingers. The nurse behind the counter smiled at him sympathetically then shifted his eyes back to the computer screen, apparently not planning to offer him anything warmer.

Cas listened to the soft clicks of the nurse’s swift touch-typing. When it stopped, he looked up.

The nurse watched him over his thin-framed glasses.

‘You got a parent’s contact, love? Didn’t have a cell on you on your way in.’

Cas shifted on his feet, cold toes curling uncomfortably in his worn sneakers. He straightened them out and a socked toe poked through a small hole, out into the crisp air.

‘Uh—can’t I just leave?’

The nurse smiled at him. Cas couldn’t decide if it was patronising or sympathetic. The nurse shook his head.

‘Hospital policy, sorry. Is there anyone else you could call?’

Cas frowned. He lowered his eyes to the turquoise vinyl, followed the line of the skirting board. Cracked plaster hung precariously from its off-white surface.

‘Dean,’ Cas looked back up at the receptionist.

‘Great. A friend of yours?’

Cas nodded slightly; gaze averted.

The nurse considered him for a moment, lips pursed. He nodded over to a phone booth. ‘Feel free to call him.’

Cas nodded his thanks and turned from the nurse, who’d already engaged in a phone call, fingers poised over the white, old-style, clunky keyboard. Cas shifted over to the phone booth, stared at the phone for a moment. Finally, he managed to pick it up.

The phone rang monotone into his ear as he pressed the keys into the pad with his free hand. Each number repeated the same, dull beep. When he’d finished, the ringing changed. Then a familiar voice pressed through the speaker.

_‘Hey?’_

Cas’ breath caught in his throat. A lump formed around it. His heart beat into his chest with the force of a kickdrum pedal.

 _‘Hello?’_ Dean’s voice tried again.

Cas could hear rustling as Dean pulled the phone from his ear, clearly about to hang up.

‘Dean!’

Dean put the phone back to his ear.

_‘Cas?’_

Cas breathed out into the microphone audibly, eyes squeezed shut.

‘I reversed the charges,’ he said, and resisted the urge to slap his palm to his forehead. ‘I hope that’s ok.’

‘ _Reversed the?—Uh—yeah—sure. It’s fine, Cas—What are you doing? Are you ok? Where are you?’_

‘Uh—’ he begun. ‘I was wondering if I could get a lift home? If you’re busy, it’s fine, I can find—’

‘ _Where are you?’_ Dean cut him off.

Cas gave him the address.

_‘Ok, I’m on my way. Just give me a few minutes.’_

_Thank you_ , Cas wanted to say, but his throat wouldn’t let him. He hung the phone back on the hook, resisted the impulse to bury his face into his hands.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the receptionist looking at him. Tugged by an invisible string, he trailed back to stand in front of the counter.

‘How did it go?’ the nurse asked brightly, attention back on him. His face was lit brightly by the screen, paling it to a deathly white. It glinted oddly against his teeth. Cas grimaced.

‘Dean’s on his way.’

The nurse smiled then returned to the computer. Cas shifted over to the seating area and lowered himself into one of the chairs. It creaked slightly under his weight.

He scanned the area. He was the only one waiting. Rows of empty, bright-colored chairs dotted the room, out of place against the plain, off-white walls. It looked like a failed, half-hearted attempt to liven up the room, like showering confetti over a wake.

The floor was quiet, save for the nurse’s typing. Cas’ ear filled with piercing tinnitus. He gazed out the window, where the dark sky seemed to press against the glass pane. Below it, headlights spotted the dark roads, breaking through the air’s darkness. The window square flicked back and forth between alabaster and slate grey as unnaturally white hospital lights flickered overhead, and Cas watched the war between light and dark as slow traffic moved in a world outside that felt as distant to him as the sun.

‘Hey.’

Cas jumped. A silhouette towered over him, blocking out the fluorescent lamps so that light panned around it. Cas stood up.

Dean leaned forward, arms extended. Panicked, Cas froze. When he didn’t move, Dean changed directory. Dropping one arm by his side, he placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder in solidarity.

From behind Dean, the receptionist cleared his throat for their attention. Cas let out his breath when Dean turned around, seemingly startled by the company. The awkwardness stuck electrically in the air; zapped mildly at him.

‘Hey,’ the nurse greeted. ‘If you could sign these, please?’

Dean looked questioningly to Cas, then stepped to take the proffered clipboard.

‘Release forms,’ the nurse answered for him.

Cas held his breath as Dean gave an uncertain nod and proceeded to take a seat.

 _Don’t read them_ , Cas wanted to say. _Please_.

Instead, he stepped forward, flipped over the top page, and pointed to the one lying beneath it.

Cas bit his lip. Dean gave him a look Cas didn’t feel like deciphering, then unclipped the pen and scribbled his name on the bottom of the sheet. When he was done, he stood up, flipping back the paper as he went. He strolled over to the counter, clipboard held out in front of him.

‘Alright,’ The nurse smiled between them as he took it. ‘You’re free to go.’

The Impala rumbled beneath them. To Cas’ left, Dean stared out the windshield to the pitch-black road illuminated solely by the long line of his headlights. The night was quiet within the car, and the darkness pressed up against the windows. It seeped into the cabin, filled the space between them like poison gas. Cas kept his eyes trained outside, at the never-ending fields soaked in black.

‘Do you have the time?’ Cas asked finally, his voice stark against the quietness. It overshadowed the car’s deep, hypnotic purr.

‘Uh—yeah.’ Dean checked his wrist quickly. ‘12:34. Why?’

Cas shrugged. When he realised Dean couldn’t see him, he mumbled.

‘Don’t have my phone.’

Dean let the silence blanket them for a moment, evidently deep in thought. Cas wasn’t sure what he wanted most. Part of him wanted to be left to dissolve into the darkness, to sink into the night. Another part begged for Dean to ask him something— _anything_ , so he could get it all out of his mind—

‘Why not?’

Cas blinked, mentally backtracking to their conversation.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I didn’t bring it with me.’

‘To the hospital?’

_There it is._

Cas turned to look back out his window. He didn’t want to answer, but—

He also did.

…But his body couldn’t.

Instead—

‘My mother’s sick again.’

 _That’s not much better_.

Dean turned his head quickly, then trained his eyes back on the road.

_At least he can’t look at me._

‘I’m sorry—Is it bad?’

Cas nodded, then realised it was pointless. He hoped his silence filled in as an answer.

A few minutes passed. Cas stared down at his lap where his hands clasped together. His fingers snaked around each other, clasping. Fingernails scratched into the skin.

He barely noticed.

‘Dad wouldn’t let me in to see her,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice even. He blinked back tears, hoped Dean wouldn’t notice.

‘I…’ Dean started. ‘I’m sorry, man.’

Dean looked over at him and their eyes met briefly before he turned back to the road.

‘I-I know that’s lame, but I am.’

Cas nodded automatically.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

 _I guess_.

‘—How’s Sam?’

‘—Have you spoken to them recently?’

‘Oh,’ Dean said. ‘Uh—well. Yeah—Sammy, he’s… he’s good. He’s on track to college; got into the course he wanted, and everything… Law.’

‘That’s good,’ Cas willed more enthusiasm into his voice, something to match the pride he could feel radiating off Dean, that happened whenever Dean talked about his brother. ‘I remember you said that was something he’s always wanted.’

‘Right from the start,’ Dean grinned.

A small smile played on Cas’ lips for a moment. Then it was gone.

‘So?’ Dean asked.

‘”So,” what?’

‘Have you spoken to them?’ he repeated. ‘Your parents?’

‘Oh… No. Except for when I tried to see her.’

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Cas chewed on his lip.

‘My mom took a while,’ Dean said, filling in the silence.

_I know._

‘—it’s not the same thing,’ he clarified. ‘I know that… But she came around.’

_My mother’s dying. I can’t even see her… How would I know if she’s come around?_

‘—Sorry,’ Dean interjected. ‘I’m just sayin’ I know it’s hard.’

The fog in Cas’ head thickened. He fought the strong urge to lie down. Instead, he lay his head against the glass. The cold bit into his scalp.

‘Any updates on the surgery?’ Dean asked suddenly.

Cas jumped away from the window, startled.

‘What?’

‘Y’know… the mastectomy? You told me about it a while ago. Have you gotten it already, or…?’

 _Oh._ Cas pushed images of lobotomies from his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Still can’t afford it.’

 _Obviously_.

‘Right…’ Dean replied. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault the medical system is broken,’ Cas joked. It fell flat.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Maybe… maybe I can help, though? Y’know… ask around?’

Cas wasn’t sure what to say.

‘I-I mean… I don’t wanna impose. I’m just sayin’… if it helps. You don’t have to answer now. Maybe think about it?’

Cas leaned his head back against the window, not sure what else to do. He resisted the temptation to feel his padded-down chest, bound, hidden, beneath his shirt.

_‘Where’s—my binder?’ Cas slurred._

_The nurse halted mid-step, cyan streak at the end of the bed._

_‘Your what, honey?’ They stepped up to the bedside._

_‘Binder. It’s very important... Like a tank.’_

_‘A tank?’_

_‘Yes—The clothes kind! Not the explosioning one,’ he clarified._

_The nurse nodded thoughtfully._

_‘I’ll be right back.’_

Noo _, Cas thought._

_The footsteps returned. Cas looked up, the bright lights hurting his eyes._

_‘Your binder top’s been confiscated, dear.’ They nodded sympathetically. ‘It poses a safety risk.’_

_Cas sunk beneath the scratchy covers, curled up in his loose hospital gown._

_‘It appears your Testosterone shot is due tomorrow as well,’ they read from a clipboard. ‘I’ll have someone inform your usual doctor that you won’t be attending.’_

_Cas didn’t respond, lost in a wave of emptiness. Its tide swept him up, its sea swallowed him. It overwhelmed him—time—its slowness; its inevitability. Its unmendable immortality. He felt sorry for it—the burden it must bear for eternity, to be all-encompassing. But mostly, he felt lost, blanketed under a vast sky which loomed over him… 74 hours deep._

He’d been lucky he’d been permitted to bunk with the men. He’d heard stories, urban horror stories, of doctors not letting people do that. Cas had been lucky.

Sort of.

The hospital was 17.43 miles from the bridge…

It rained on Thursday.

‘Cas?’ Dean’s voice was low, serious.

Cas pulled away from the window slowly.

‘Yes?’ he answered finally.

‘What happened?’

_There it is._

Cas held his breath, stared at the space where his feet swum in darkness. He felt bottomless. Eternal.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘ _Cas.’_

He looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean held his gaze, road forgotten.

‘Dean…’ he said.

He pulled his gaze away. ‘Dean, the road.’

The car swerved back into the lane, kicking up roadside dirt. The force pushed him to the left, to the driver’s seat.

‘Cas, seriously.’

He regained his posture, let the quiet fall over them for a few minutes. He stared out the windshield, at a spot in the dark, overcast sky. He stared until a cloud moved slightly, enough for a tiny patch of stars to twinkle for a moment. Another cloud took its place, swallowed them back up again.

‘I called my father,’ Cas said, voice soft.

They passed a lone streetlight. Dean nodded, clearly relieved he was speaking.

‘When I got home one night, I called Father. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, so I called him.

‘I don’t know what it was I was expecting. It wasn’t as though his mind would suddenly have changed in two days. I was just…. Hoping. I wanted to speak to _her_ , at least.’

_‘Is she okay?’_

_‘My wife is none of your concern. I told you not to come back here—I made that perfectly clear—and you came back anyway. You made a_ decision _. When you chose to ruin yourself, you chose to turn your back on your family. We are far better off without your nonsense.’_

_‘Father—’_

_‘I am_ not _your father!’_

‘He wouldn’t let me. He said…’ Cas closed his eyes, swallowed thickly. ‘He said the world was better off without me in it.’

Dean pulled in a sharp breath.

‘So, I…’

Words caught in his throat. His mind buzzed, thick with dust and a thousand words circling his head like a tornado. He didn’t know what to say.

Dean waited, calm, patient. The Impala kept consuming the asphalt, left behind them a long stretch of empty road.

Cas looked out the window. With a start, he recognised a roadsign.

_His t-shirt clung to his chest, stuck to his binder and skin. The rain poured down, unrelenting. He stopped, hunched over, and grasped a pole protruding from the dirt. He shivered violently._

_Eventually, he looked up._

**_Stop_ ** _, was all it said, red octagon blurred in the storm._

 **_Stop_ ** _._

_Cas almost laughed._

‘I sat with it for a long time. A _long_ time. Then suddenly, I got up and left. I’d made a decision, and I just left. I don’t even know if I closed the door. I certainly didn’t lock it. It didn’t matter anymore.

‘I made my way to the bridge—the bluestone bridge on the edge of town—and I just stood there, at the edge, staring down into the water. It was so dark it looked black. And deep. And far away. Far enough that I might…’

Cas stopped. Breathed. Dean didn’t rush him.

‘I was about to… I was about to do it. So I don’t know what it was that stopped me— Maybe it was Mom. Maybe it was the fact that I’d once done research into the closest LGBT-friendly hospital, that I knew how to get there. Maybe it was something else. But I started walking… to a hospital I knew would take me.’

‘You… you walked fifteen miles? In the night? In _that?’_ Dean glanced at Cas’ t-shirt.

Cas nodded. This time, Dean saw.

‘Yeah.’

‘Why didn’t—’

Cas looked at him, waiting.

‘What?’

Dean looked unsure.

‘Why didn’t I _what?’_

Dean swallowed, glanced away, then trained his eyes back on the road.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

Cas sighed.

 _Of course_.

But when he looked back up, Dean was watching him. It was so dark they could barely see each other. But Dean didn’t seem offended or hurt. His eyes were soft, concerned; he just wanted to know.

‘I don’t know, Dean,’ Cas watched the roadlines converge and disappear into one spot in the distance. ‘It never occurred to me.’

‘Maybe I was ashamed,’ he suggested. ‘I didn’t want anyone there. I’m not even sure why I ever chose to live.’

‘I think I do,’ Dean said.

‘You do? Enlighten me.’

‘This,’ he gestured to the space around them.

Cas raised his eyebrows.

‘You?’ he asked, half-joking.

Dean considered for a moment.

‘No,’ he said truthfully. ‘I mean yes, and no… I think you just wanted someone to help you.’

Cas turned away again, pensive.

‘Cas?’

He didn’t move.

‘Cas,’ Dean repeated.

Cas set his elbow on the door frame, rested his cheek against his palm. He eyed the center console, the only barrier between them. Dean’s arms crossed and overlapped as he turned a corner in one smooth motion.

‘The next time it happens,’ Dean continued, face taut, serious. His forehead was creased, eyes fixed resolutely to the road. ‘You call me.’

The car pulled up at an intersection. The road was empty; a grim reminder of the cold morning they weaved through, of where they’d just come from, and where he had been.

‘I’m serious, man.’

Cas nodded. Time loomed out ahead of him. He could see the intersections around them now, the small spaces between the buildings, the connectedness of things. He still felt distant.

Roadsigns dotted the pavements, traffic lights glared their reds and greens, and the roads remained empty. The rows of suburbia blurred around them, dark and quiet, houselights off, and curtains pulled shut. The world rested, oblivious, and Cas felt so far away from all of it.

He didn’t register the car had stopped until the door on his left had swung open and the vehicle was tipping like a spring rocker. When Cas made to open his door, Dean hunched over, one arm resting on the roof as he peered inside.

‘Nuh-uh.’

Cas turned around to him, frowning. His grip on the door handle tightened.

‘What?’

‘You’re not coming in. I’ll be right back… Don’t move,’ he warned.

Cas followed the tapping of footsteps up to his flat and watched the figure disappear through a doorway. A few minutes later he re-emerged, backpack hanging from his right hand. Dean closed the door behind him.

‘What are you doing?’ Cas asked once Dean was seated again and turning the key in the ignition.

‘My place,’ he said simply.

‘Why?’

Dean didn’t reply, but grinned at him as he fixed the key into the ignition. The Impala lurched forward, and Cas settled back into his seat, exhausted. Too tired to fight for his own solitude.

‘This is it,’ Dean said, clicking on the main lights to reveal a small living space and packed-in kitchen.

Cas didn’t speak. Dean lead him wordlessly through the sparse furniture to his bedroom. It was mostly empty, the walls plain and the bedsheets a simple matelassé in various shades of brown. Dean dug around a drawer. Then, carrying an armful, he walked back towards the door.

‘It’s all yours,’ he smiled.

‘—wait,’ Cas caught Dean’s arm as he sidled out.

Dean stopped expectantly.

‘This is your room. Where are you going?’

Dean indicated to the sofa with his elbow. He smiled; a wordless, _I’ll be fine._

‘No, Dean. I can’t take your space.’ Cas took the pile of clothes from Dean’s arm and set them on the bed. He made to leave.

‘I’m fine with the sofa. I used to crash at Sam’s, remember?’

Cas didn’t respond. He paced over to the sofa, sat down with his bag. Dean followed him out of the bedroom, opened an ivory white cupboard nailed high into the wall and fished out a blanket and a pillow.

‘You’re all set,’ Dean smiled, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry, I’m gonna—’ he gestured to his room.

Cas nodded. ‘Thank you, Dean.’

Dean paused, hovering by the TV.

‘If you need anything…’ he said.

Cas shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to disturb your sleep—again.’

Dean smiled, the corner of his mouth tipped up. Cas looked away awkwardly; decided to fluff the pillow with a strange, slow version of a karate chop.

With retreating footsteps plodding away into the next room, Cas collapsed. He barely managed to kick off his shoes and force his body beneath the covers, limbs unnaturally exhausted, chest crushed under an ever-building weight.

On Thursday he had glimpsed relief. Standing over the edge of bluestone, staring down into dark waters. His body didn’t summon fear. His nervous system refused to kick in, to comprehend the inevitability of pain; the concrete-like contact, the burning in his lungs with mouthfuls of water, the blinding coldness of a nocturnal river all around him, freezing his skin blue. All he could see was ending; a light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

He stared up at the track lighting, its long, metal frame. It supported a collection of four circle lampshades resembling the smoothed petals of a rosebud. Each light faced its own direction, and together they covered the entirety of the room.

Cas closed his eyes. The light pressed against his eyelids, lit them to the color of sand. He felt blind.

_He kept his eyes shut against the strong lights of the ward, refused to look at the rows of beds where other men shuffled aimlessly in and out of rooms. A few times a day the nurses would force-feed him medication. Every half-hour one would poke their head into his room and check he was still there._

_At night, he’d lay awake to stare at the charcoal ceiling. He’d watch the shadows of the trees dance on the plaster, mimicking the world outside._

_When he’d asked about his release he was granted a trip to the psychiatrist. The doctor had looked him up and down, then proceeded to question him. At the end of the hour, she gave an opinion._

_‘I don’t think it would be best for you to leave tomorrow, Castiel. I recommend we have you transferred to floor 3, where you’ll stay for further observation.’_

_Cas avoided shifting in his chair, aware of the scrutiny. He played absently with the front of his gown. His mind was blank, a low drum beat in his ear, filling up the vacant space. He finally summoned enough words to form a sentence:_

_‘I want to leave.’_

_The look the doctor gave him was disapproving. Cas held his breath, afraid of what she might say. Eventually the doctor shook her head, admitted he had no legal obligations to stay; that the hospital had no hold over him after 74 hours._

_With his shackles released, Cas stood from the wooden armchair, relieved. It creaked in his wake. A nurse stood in the corridor outside the office, ready to escort him back to the ward where he’d climbed back into bed and sunk back into the oblivion of time._

The mattress next door groaned and footsteps plodded back to the living room. Cas kept his eyes closed, listened to his friend’s movement, to his slow breathing. The light switch clicked, and the room went dark. All four lights blinked out at once.

The retreating footsteps paused, and Cas slowed his breath, feigned sleep. When the door finally creaked shut, Cas opened his eyes to the darkness, to twinkling phosphenes. He sat up, propped up on his elbows.

When he was sure he couldn’t hear anything else, he grabbed his backpack, slipped into his shoes. Laces undone, he tiptoed across the carpet. Even in the dark he could see the worn patches, its lived-in nylon. The shoestrings clinked softly as they hit the ground, and he reached the door, bag hanging from a tight fist. It swayed in the air.

His hand hovered above the doorhandle. He hung his head, chest throbbing. A clock ticked—one he hadn’t noticed before—its sound was louder against the silence. Each tick echoed. He looked back over his shoulder, to where Dean had disappeared into his own space.

 _‘The next time it happens,’_ Dean had said. ‘ _You call me.’_

Cas hovered, thinking. He squeezed his eyes shut.

In the other room, Dean mumbled, words muffled, unintelligible. Cas smiled, dropped his hand to his side. His whole body shivered.

He backed from the door slowly. When his knees hit the sofa, he lay down his bag and climbed back under the sheets.

A mild wave of pain sliced through his bracketed chest. His lungs shuddered for air.

He sat up suddenly. The cold rushed to his arms, stung them. He tugged off his shirt, then the binder. He felt naked. Cold. He shrugged the t-shirt back on, its fabric warm, and wormed his way back under the covers until they became a cocoon. The warmth hugged him, gripped to his skin, and his mind slipped away into a daydream, slipped away into sleep.

‘Mornin’, sunshine.’

Cas looked up from his shoelaces. He pulled them tight, then stood.

Dean rubbed an eye with one hand, the other fixed a cup of coffee.

‘Want some?’ he asked once his hand was wrapped tightly around his own steaming mug.

Cas shook his head.

‘How’re you feeling?’ Dean spun around to grab a lighter stick, held it over the stove, and turned a dial. A blue flame bloomed in the burner.

Cas didn’t speak, his throat stuffed with cotton.

Unphased, Dean moved for the fridge. Its door groaned open and the light illuminated his face. Cas could feel the gush of coldness. Dean pulled out a carton of eggs and some bacon, then shut the door with his foot.

Suddenly, a phone rang a familiar ringtone. Cas looked around.

‘Do you…’ he asked.

Dean shook his head and motioned for Cas’ backpack. Cas made his way towards it as Dean whistled a tune, got to making breakfast.

Cas unzipped the bag, pulled out his cell. It buzzed in his hand.

‘Hello?’ he asked.

‘ _Oh, hello!’_ A familiar voice replied, orange and warm, and home. Cas’ stomach turned itself inside-out. _‘May I speak with Cassie?’_

A sharp pain flicked against his chest.

 _‘Hello?’_ she tried again. ‘ _Excuse me—’_

‘Mom?’ he managed.

The line went silent.

 _‘Cass?’_ she said finally. _‘My Cassie?’_

Cas swallowed hard, nodded on instinct.

 _‘My gosh, your_ voice _,’_ she said, astounded.

Cas chuckled, could see Dean smile at it from the kitchen.

‘Hi, Mom,’ he said.

The line went silent for a few seconds, and all Cas could hear was clattering from the kitchen and a vaguely-familiar tune.

‘ _How have you been?’_ Her voice was slow, cautious, still processing. _‘Have you been well?’_

‘…Yeah …. Yeah, I’ve been…’ Cas paused, uncertain. His eyes travelled along the lines between the kitchen tiles. He bit his lip. ‘Fine. How about you?’

 _‘Ohh, you know me…’_ she trailed off. _‘I heard Chuck yelling on the phone the other day.’_

Cas shifted on his feet, looked up to the kitchen, at Dean’s back, where he was stood facing the stove. Cas hadn’t noticed he’d stopped whistling.

‘I heard about the recurrence,’ Cas said.

_‘Yes… Well.’_

‘I tried to call,’ he offered.

_‘I know.’_

‘Gabriel’s there, isn’t he?’ His eyes started watering. He coughed, trying to keep his voice even. ‘I asked him to go on my behalf.’

_‘Gabriel is here, darling. He arrived this morning.’_

Cas breathed a sigh of relief, audible through the other end of the line.

 _‘I suspect he’s the one who let you know?’_ his mother continued. _‘God knows I don’t need this spreading around.’_

‘He texted the day before I called.’

‘Texted.’ She scoffed. _‘How very_ him _.’_

‘It’s okay,’ Cas said. ‘I suspect he’s not handling the news as well as he pretends.’

_‘My ever-considerate Cassie.’_

A jolt ran low through his abdomen.

‘I’m…’

_‘What?’_

‘I—uh.’ His mouth went very dry. ‘I changed it, actually?’

He couldn’t help the slight inflection, the hesitancy.

_‘Changed what?’_

‘I’m not Cassie anymore, Mom. I changed my name.’

He held his breath. The returning silence translated to disgruntlement. Cas’ mind froze, unsure what to do. Then he remembered something—

‘Do you remember the sculpture in the living room? The one on the mantelpiece?’ he asked.

_‘Of course.’_

She seemed less put-off. Cas considered it progress; it spurred him on.

‘It was my favourite when I was a child. I used to sit on the floor and stare up at it, pretend it would come to life.’

 _‘I remember,’_ she replied, and he could tell she was smiling now. _‘We bought it just before you were born. You were a beautiful girl.’_

‘I, uh—‘ he closed his eyes, forced his mind back on track. ‘When I was searching for names, I could never find any that fit me, that felt right. It was the same pattern for months. I’d read as many baby-name books as I could find, and none of them seemed right. I think I read four in total, cover to cover.’

He’d exhausted the library’s limited selection, even managed to borrow some off a colleague. He’d almost given up, but then—

‘I was on my way to the bookstore to buy another one when I saw an angel in the shop front of a local store. It reminded me of your angel. It was the same height, possibly the same material, same style. And that’s when I figured it out; that’s when I knew my name.’

_‘Castiel.’_

Cas smiled, a small, private small.

_‘My favorite angel.’_

A soft, warm feeling spread along his chest. He felt peaceful.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And I have this friend-’

 _‘A boyfriend?’_ she interjected.

Cas chuckled. ‘No,’ he clarified. ‘A friend—his name is Dean—’ He looked over at Dean, who was stirring a pot, pretending not to listen. ‘And he calls me Cas, like you used to.’ He smiled. ‘Sometimes he reminds me of you.’

_‘He sounds nice.’_

‘He is. And I think he’s currently pretending not to overhear.’

He could see the slight lift at the side of Dean’s face as he smirked.

_‘He’s with you? At this time of morning? Are you sure there’s nothing more?’_

Cas didn’t answer.

 _‘Hmm…’_ she mused. _‘Tell him I say_ _“Hello.” Give him a hug from me.’_

‘I’ll do that.’

Both of them fell silent for a moment, thinking. He pretended for a moment that he was there with her, that they were enjoying each other’s company, each other’s silence.

 _‘Thank you, Cass— tiel…’_ she said, breaking their silence. _‘Thank you, my…’_ she paused, thinking. _‘dear angel. I know Chuck doesn’t want us talking. He’s tried to hide everything, thinks that he’s keeping me safe by doing so, but… I love you. You were my child once—I could never not love you.’_

She stopped for a moment, thinking.

 _‘And I want you to come and visit,’_ she said eventually, voice resolute.

‘Okay,’ his voice cracked.

 _‘Don’t worry about your father,’_ she continued hurriedly. _‘I’ll deal with him… He just wants what’s best.’_

‘Mom—’

‘—I will call you soon.’

The line went dead abruptly.

Cas didn’t move, recovering from the whiplash.

‘Bye,’ he said to the empty line.

Eventually, he pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared at in his hand, then stuffed it away into his pocket.

When he made his way over to the kitchen Dean looked up at him and grinned.

‘How did it go?’ he asked cheerily.

When Cas didn’t reply, Dean motioned to a chair.

‘Breakfast is ready,’ he said, and he placed a large plate of bacon and eggs on the table in front of him.

Cas smiled at him in thanks, stomach rumbling. He reached for his fork.

‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Dean winked.

Cas grinned back at him.

‘I am.’

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide content.
> 
> If you're feeling suicidal, please call your country's suicide hotline, call a friend, just contact _someone_.
> 
> ***
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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